


A Trickle of Magic Through A Crack of A Broken Heart

by roryheadmav



Category: Thor: The Dark World - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Thorki - Freeform, Thunderfrost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Thor: The Dark World AU fic. Loki has been imprisoned for all eternity, his cell warded so that he would not be able to use his magic. Never did anyone realize that the source of the God of Mischief's magic was more powerful than they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trickle of Magic Through A Crack of A Broken Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tothetwelve](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tothetwelve).



> The story you are about to read would not have been made if I wasn't so inspired by a lovely, yet poignant art by TOTHETWELVE, which you can find at http://tothetwelve.tumblr.com/post/50847532579/wonder-what-i-would-be-without-you-while-locked. So great was the stimulation to my struggling muses, that I also ended up incorporating another of her arts (http://tothetwelve.tumblr.com/post/48877855805/i-like-your-hair)into the story.
> 
> Naturally, this story is for TOTHETWELVE. Thank you so much, not only for the inspiration, but also being so warm and kind to listen to this old woman's woes.

**A TRICKLE OF MAGIC THROUGH A CRACK OF A BROKEN HEART**

**Copyright June 3, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

_The war was over; their terrible foe was at last defeated._

_Yet, there were no celebrations throughout the realm._

_The kingdom lay in ruins; the once gleaming, towering spires of the royal palace were now stained black with smoke over a dull, antiquated bronze patina._

_Their Queen was dead, but their sorrow and mourning over her passing was subdued, with tears only shed out of the corners of their eyes. Whether the King mourned for her or not, no one knew, since he went about his days overseeing the rebuilding of the kingdom. Only those who were close confidants of their monarch noticed the slight slumping of his shoulders and the heavy treading of his steps, as if the burden he was carrying inside his chest was too much to bear._

_The hearts of all, however, cried out for their Crown Prince who had, since his return from the Dark World, chosen to ensconce himself in a sterile white cell in the dungeons of the palace. It was rumored that the Prince had gone mad with grief, if one were to gauge it upon the erratic weather patterns that plagued the realm. While many pitied the Prince for his broken heart, a few looked upon his desolation with disdain._

_For how could their beloved hero weep inconsolably over the one who betrayed them all?_

_The Prince was aware of their disgruntled whisperings, but he could not care less for those who would not try to understand the one they called "traitor", the one whom they had condemned._

_He whom he once lovingly called "Brother."_

_But then again, had he not been just like them? Rather than fathom the motives of his sibling in his failed schemes, he had hustled him off to his father to be judged and, later, sentenced to eternal imprisonment. Never had he tried to speak with his brother, to know his heart._

_Instead, he had allowed his anger and his doubts to weaken his resolve to chip away the wall of lies which concealed the truth._

_Now, he was left with nothing. Just an empty cell with large blocks of ice sent to him from each of the nine kingdoms and which he had commanded the guards to be brought to him as soon as they were delivered to the Bridge. Ice which he chipped away day and night with hammer and chisel, hoping to recreate what he had lost so that he could finally see the truth._

_Often he would pause from his endless toils to critique his work through swollen blue eyes. Did that sharp protrusion look like his brother's nose? Was that smooth expanse at the top close enough to his sibling's broad forehead? Should he get a smaller chisel in order to carve out his brother's thin lips? Why did his brother have to be so delicate yet complex in his beauty?_

_Alas, to his sorrow, his big, clumsy hands were never made for building. Their expertise lay in destruction. Still, he would struggle at this foreign craft, only to smite one creation after another into a thousand pieces when none of his efforts produced the results he desired._

_It was near midnight and he was down to his last block of ice. He had delayed using this particular ice. It has a beautiful azure color which reminded him so much of his brother's skin when he had chanced upon his metamorphosis into the form of his true heritage in this same cell. What his brother was doing then was forever imprinted inside his mind._

_It was one frozen instance during that passionate moment which he had chosen to recreate on this blue block of ice. His brother's face had never looked so young, so tender then while indulging in a forbidden passion. His long, dark hair had become frizzy and disheveled from his wanton motions. His lips were parted, murmuring words that he would never say to his older sibling again._

_For an hour and a half, he thought his toiling hands would not betray him, that his fingers would at last be able to tenderly shape those delicate features. But the long hours of working on freezing ice had taken its toll. His anguished cry reverberated throughout the dungeons as the chisel fell from his frostbitten fingers, the sharp edge chipping a gaping scar into that smooth, icy cheek. Awakening from his self-induced trance, he gaped in horror at his creation. What he thought was close to perfection was, in fact, riddled with flaws too glaring to be ignored._

_The sculpture before him revealed all too clearly the truth that he kept on denying to himself._

_That he never loved his brother enough._

_Despondent and defeated, he wrapped his arms around the ice sculpture, surrendering completely to the guilt and grief._

_"I am sorry, Brother," the Prince whispered, his hot tears melting the ice in his embrace. "I am so sorry."_

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Everyone on Asgard—from the lowliest peasant to the highborn lords and ladies of the court—harbored the mistaken belief that Loki Laufeyson was a complex, complicated creature whose nefarious schemes reflected no definite motive except to satisfy a whim that would strike his fancy.

 

They never knew the simplicity of the goal inside the Trickster's heart—to be accepted and, more so, loved by the family he had called his own for most of his life. Especially the one he had called "Brother."

 

It was this "childish need"—as The Other had sneeringly called it—which had led to his ultimate downfall and disgrace. In his desire to conquer an entire realm and rule it has his own in order to be of equal standing with his brother, he was brought to an embarrassing low by mere mortals.

 

Now, as Loki sat in his pristine white cell, mulling over his mistakes, he could not stop from cursing himself for giving in to such useless sentiments as envy, jealousy, and love. After all, have not all those centuries of living in the Golden Realm already made it very apparent that he will always be seen by the man he once called "Father" as nothing more than a stolen relic, now a monster whom parents tell their children about at night? An opinion which was now wholeheartedly shared by his once beloved brother.

 

Oh, how he hated Thor! He still could not fathom how such a dull-witted, muscle-brained and, more so sentimental, oaf could still be the favored son. Loki had schemed to show to all Thor's weaknesses and, yet, he has emerged the hero…of two realms, no less! It just wasn't fair! He wanted nothing more than to have his brother in his clutches and crush him in his bare hands. No, that would be too simple and too quick. He was the Trickster, the God of Mischief after all. There were so many inventive, innovative ways by which he could torment his brother.

 

Unfortunately for him, the cell he had been incarcerated in was warded with spells that prevented him from using his magic, even for his own amusement. Bored out of his mind, his only solace were the books that his mother brought him every day and every night that she came to visit.

 

Loki had no right to call Frigga his mother, not having been born from her womb. And yet, she was the only one who never shunned him. Although he would rant and rave at her for her kindness, Frigga never faltered from visiting her youngest "son", even going so far as to give him a warm smile and a patronizing pat on the head as if he were still the loving child she had raised and not the war criminal he had become. It had gotten to the point that he became so exasperated with her tenderness that he stopped speaking to her entirely, and it was his silence which ultimately distressed Frigga more.

 

In the end, though, it was he who broke his silence, asking her curiously, "Why do you still bother with me?"

 

"Because you're my son, and I love you, and no one can convince me otherwise," Frigga said simply.

 

"And what if I say that I don't love you, **_all_** of you, especially your real son?"

 

Frigga shrugged. "Then you would be lying to yourself, and nothing can be more painful or hurtful than to be a liar to one's heart."

 

Loki did not understand his mother's cryptic words; neither did he force himself to understand them in the weeks that followed. Instead, he stewed on his growing hatred, unable to find an outlet for his rage.

 

That is, until that fateful day when he suddenly awoke one morning and discovered that his cell was covered from floor to ceiling with ice.

 

Because of his Jotun blood, Loki was immune to the cold, so that he never realized that he had performed a bit of magic while he slept. Elated, he made a subtle gesture with his hand, causing the ice to melt away and evaporate instantly. Searching through every nook and cranny of his cell, he found the cause for his magic's sudden return—a hairline crack in the wall rising from the edge of the bed at the foot. Lying on his stomach, he peered at that tiny crack. Inching closer, Loki cupped his hands beneath it, with his arms tucked to his chest, and was overjoyed to feel a trickle of magic slowly filling his palms.

 

In the days that followed, he tested his magic, to see how much of it he could use. It turned out to be very little, certainly not enough to break him out of his prison. But it was sufficient for whiling an eternity of imprisonment away. And what better way to do it than by creating passable ice facsimiles of his brother and obliterating them to oblivion.

 

It was amusing at first. Loki perversely enjoyed sculpting ice statues of Thor with gross deformities. A big head here, enormous muscles there. Those bloated parts he would expand until they burst. A particular favorite activity of his was enlarging a certain part of the Thunder God's anatomy which he took great pride in, never failing to boast about it with his friends and the tavern wenches. With a sinuous wave of his fingers, he would melt that impressive member slowly until it was nothing more than a stubby little plug between those strong, muscular thighs, which would have the Trickster plopping backward on the floor with laughter, unmindful of the puddles of water soaking his clothes.

 

But this pastime, too, came to a halt when, one evening, after pulverizing his latest sculpture's right arm—which had proudly held aloft a mighty hammer—Loki saw a tear trickle from its eye. He shouldn't have thought of it as a tear. It could have been a mere drop of condensation as the statue melted. But when he finally destroyed his creation, he felt an uncomfortable surge of guilt inside his heart at having done the nefarious deed.

 

Because of that, Loki did not indulge in his hobby, choosing to occupy his mind with the pages of his books. This lasted for a full week. In the end, he could no longer resist the temptation of using his magic again.

 

Unlike before, Loki took exquisite care in the crafting of his ice sculptures. With sweeps of his hands and graceful caresses of his fingers, he carved beautiful, life-sized statues of Thor, recreating happy moments during their childhood and their youth.

 

There in one corner sat Thor as a little boy, industriously making a crown and a garland of flowers which would later adorn his sibling's head and neck. Teenage Thor leaned cockily against the wall with arms folded over his chest, daring his younger brother to join him in another foolish escapade. A favorite of his was a sculpture of grown-up Thor, reaching out to him with his right hand to hold the back of his sibling's neck, as was his habit when he was struggling to say something important and very personal.

 

All of them displays of the pathetic sentiment that Loki so despised. And yet he could never get enough of.

 

Then, on one particularly lonely night when his mother had not come to call, Loki ended up succumbing to a powerful urge, an urge born from a dream—no, a memory—of forbidden experimentation between the two siblings when they finally reached the age of manhood. It had been Thor who asked, following a particularly lewd proposition from a drunken Fandral. Curious himself, Loki had said yes. And what followed after was a night of pure love and magic for the God of Mischief.

 

Like a man entranced, Loki stood up from his bed and summoned forth his magic. His eyes were shut tightly, the lines of his forehead etched deeply in concentration, as he remembered every minute detail of the Thunder God that night. When his eyelids fluttered open, he could barely contain his shiver of delight at the sight of the nude sculpture of Thor lying invitingly on his back before him, his large, thick cock awaiting passionate ministration.

 

Loki discarded his clothes then, tossing them on the bed. Placing his feet on either side of the sculpture's hips, he went down on his knees. Before he could sheathe himself on that hard member, he stopped with a gasp, feeling the frigid bite of the ice on the puckered lips of his opening. He had forgotten that his Aesir body could not take the cold. However, he would not be denied his need.

 

Although he swore he would never change into the form of his true heritage, answering the call of his desire, the blue color began spreading through his skin, completely washing out its original paleness. The lines and ridges of his royal lineage appeared, and the promise of what would be impressive ram's horns emerged from his brow. The transformation thus completed, Loki sank down upon the sculpture's length with a whimper and a sigh.

 

At first, he rode his creation at a languid pace in order to stretch his long, unused hole. At the same time, his left hand fingers tweaked turgid azure nipples while his right pumped his rousing cock. But as he was slowly and surely reaching the peak, he quickened the pistoning motion of his hips, crystal drops of sweat flying from his hair every time he threw his head back in wild abandon. Loki never knew that he was crying out for Thor, loving, encouraging words of "I love you, Brother" and "Yes, more please!" spilling from his lips. He was building himself up to an explosive release.

 

A release which never came as his heated gaze suddenly met shocked blue eyes.

 

With a mewling cry, Loki scrambled backward in shock and guilt, the cock of ice breaking so that it remained stuck inside his ass. He barely had time to throw his arm protectively over his face when that hated hammer descended and shattered the statue into pieces. Merciless fingers dug through his hair, wrenching his head upward so that he could behold his brother's rage.

 

 ** _"YOU DISGUST ME!"_** was all Thor said as he shoved Loki to the floor.

 

Loki did not realize, at first, that his mother had arrived then. He thought it was a guard, because Thor roared about a sweep to be done in his cell in order to find the weakness in the wards. The Trickster only became aware of Frigga's presence when she took him into her arms.

 

As Loki wept bitterly, mourning the loss of his brother's love—unmindful of the blood and water that trickled from his ass—Frigga tenderly kissed the top of his head, her tears falling on the dark strands of his hair.

 

"My poor son!" she whispered in lament. It was she who had convinced her firstborn to visit his brother. Frigga had been so anticipating a happy reunion between her two boys. "The crack in the wards of this cell is but an insignificant thing. Your magic comes from one source, and it is something that no one can contain, especially now that its wellspring is broken beyond repair."

 

His mother's words only made some sense to him after the crack in the wall had been found and sealed, but his magic remained with him, the source of which he has finally ascertained, but which he could not bring himself to acknowledge. Still, he never used his magic again after that night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

A few more months passed since then. Loki became aware of a disturbance in the kingdom. At first, the guards to his cell were doubled. Soon, however, no one guarded him at all, the men sent off to defend the realm from an unknown threat. It seemed that they were confident in the strength of the wards of Loki's cell, not realizing that the Trickster's magic had grown stronger all that time he grieved and pined for the God of Thunder. Loki could have left his cell, never to return to Asgard. But he had chosen not to, in the vain hope that Thor would come to him and forgive him for his act of lewd impetuousness.

 

No words could describe his elation when he heard heavy, striding footsteps coming from outside his cell. Then Thor himself appeared, dressed in a dark gray ceremonial cape over his armor. The Thunder God stared at him impassively. For his part, Loki lounged back on his bed, resting against the wall. He certainly did not want to appear too eager to see him again.

 

"I will not mince words with you, Loki," Thor began bluntly. "I shall tell you why I have come and all I wish to hear from you is a 'yes' or a 'no'."

 

Thor told him then about Malekith The Accursed, who has been leading a great army of Dark Elves through the Nine Realms, destroying everything in their path. Loki's heart sank when the God of Thunder also told him about that woman Jane Foster, and how she had acquired a dark power on Midgard, a power that Malekith desired to claim for himself. To protect her, he had brought Foster to Asgard, hoping that his father could purge the dark energy from her. Irony of ironies, Odin did not possess the knowledge of this power, but he was able to determine its source—that mysterious, sinister realm known as the Dark World. It was to that world that Thor should bring the woman in order to return the power that was inside her. However, no one knew how to get to that place. Except for one.

 

Loki—having traversed the hidden, forbidden pathways of Yggdrasil—knew the location of the Dark World.

 

He would have said yes immediately to his brother's indirect plea for help. The Trickster, however, was not inclined to give his aid to the woman who had stolen his brother's love from him.

 

After Thor had presented his suit, Loki could not resist voicing out his true sentiments. "You must be truly desperate to come to me for help."

 

Thor's face hardened at these words, but he refused to rise to the bait. "So…what is your answer?"

 

"What's in it for me?"

 

"Pardon…and freedom."

 

To this reply, Loki used his magic to teleport himself effortlessly outside his cell and then back inside. The startlement on Thor's face at the knowledge that the God of Chaos could have escaped at any time was priceless.

 

Loki made this very clear by stating brusquely, "You have nothing to offer me."

 

There was a reluctant, disgusted expression on the God of Thunder's features. "What if I give you what you desire?"

 

The Trickster could not believe what he just heard. "What?"

 

"I said I will give you what you desire," Thor growled the words out slowly, his face as red as his favorite cape.

 

Loki doubled up with laughter then. He was laughing so hard that tears poured down his face. "Do you think I want a mercy fuck from you?"

 

"Then what do you want?" Thor demanded.

 

Rushing toward the ensorcelled glass, Loki pounded his right fist on the barrier so hard that it rattled on its frame. **_"I want you to call me 'Brother' like you used to! I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME!"_**

 

"What little love I have for you is gone since you brought the Jotuns into Asgard and invaded Midgard with the Chitauri."

 

"I did those things to prove myself worthy, to be recognized as your equal!"

 

"You killed thousands of innocent people for your childish wish for love and acceptance! You say you want me to love you? I loved you… ** _dearl_** y…as any brother should! I trusted you with all my heart and, yet, you betrayed me!"

 

" ** _You_** betrayed **_me_ FIRST**! You… ** _asked_** …me, and I gave you… ** _everything_** …willingly! But what did you do afterwards? You tossed me aside and sated yourself upon lowly wenches! You gave your heart to a mortal woman! Don't speak to me of betrayal, Thor! You are much to blame for everything that I had done out of love for you, perhaps even more than the terrible truth that the Allfather had kept from me all these centuries! And you know what's worse? Despite what you did to me, I still love the god who betrayed my heart!"

 

Loki found himself flying backward, his body hitting the far wall painfully, as Thor obliterated the glass with a single strike of Mjolnir. Before Loki could get to his feet, the Thunder God seized his shirt, partially ripping his collar at the V of his neck and tearing out some of the metal trimmings.

 

"You shall take what I give you, Loki!" Thor snarled in low, ominous tones.

 

If those words were intended to intimidate the Trickster, they did not have the desired effect. Loki was already prepared for what was to happen next.

 

Thor threw Loki on the bed roughly, jerking the woolen trousers down his long, pale limbs. Loki was about to turn on his back and spread his legs, but the elder god gripped his hair painfully, pulling his body upwards and onto his knees.

 

"Not even a kiss?" Loki inquired sarcastically as blunt fingers invaded his opening.

 

"I have no kisses for you, Loki. I don't even want to look at your face as I fuck you," was the gruff reply, followed immediately by a thrust of a hard rod which pushed the younger god forward.

 

Loki winced at that intrusion and then sighed in resignation, as Thor plunged his whole length into his body. "Have it your way then."

 

The God of Thunder's brisk, brutal motions were meant to break, devastate, and destroy. Loki could feel his channel tearing with every thrust, his back straining to bear the heavy weight above him. With every withdrawal, blood would flow down his thighs.

 

And, yet, he egged his sibling on. "Yes, Thor! Harder! Faster! Break me…if you can!"

 

Loki's frenzied words struck home. With a cry, Thor jerked his cock free, his member wilting, spilling a pathetic puddle of come on the floor.

 

Unmindful that his trousers still hung from his thighs, Thor asked despairingly, "What happened, Brother? How did we become like this?"

 

Loki did not answer those anguished queries. Instead, he donned his own trousers and sat on the bed, his back resting against the wall, ignoring the soreness of his bottom. Recalling his own state of partial undress, the Thunder God yanked his leggings up and secured them with his belt.

 

"I'm an envious, selfish creature, Brother," Loki, at last, said sorrowfully. "But you should never have doubted the love I feel for you. Everything that I have done—and will do—were all for love of you, twisted as it may seem. Therefore, as much as it revolts me to aid that woman, my answer to your plea is yes."

 

"Believe me, Loki, I equally abhor having to ask for your help, knowing…as you say…your 'twisted' feelings for me. But I have no choice. I love Jane Foster and, for her sake, I have to make a pact with you. However, you should know that when you betray me, I will kill you."

 

Loki leaned forward slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief and a smile teasing the corners of his lips. "When do we start?"

 

The Trickster's query was answered by a band of Dark Elves wielding strange weapons, suddenly barging into the dungeon. Instinctively, Loki deflected an energy beam that was fired at the Thunder God with a glowing green barrier. Thor let his outer gray cloak drop from his shoulders so that his bright red cape fluttered free. As he swung his mighty hammer, knocking some of their foes flat on the floor, Loki would guard the older god's back, throwing conjured daggers at any Dark Elf who dared to approach his brother. It was just like old times when they would fight back to back, and Loki relished the exhilaration of being in partnership with the God of Thunder—his brother—again. Soon, all the Dark Elves were vanquished.

 

"We must hurry!" Thor ordered. "Malekith is leading a small group of elves to the royal suites as we speak."

 

"Just a moment. I would first have that which you have denied me," the Trickster called out, running back inside the cell. Using the moisture in the air, Loki conjured up one final ice sculpture—of Thor as he was now, brave and bold, albeit with pain and confusion in his eyes. As the Thunder God watched, Loki tenderly laid his right hand over the statue's chest while his left caressed that high cheekbone and proud jaw. He then pressed his lips to the statue. Strange how it seemed warmer in comparison to the real god.

 

"Farewell," Loki murmured sadly.

 

"Loki! We must go!" Thor yelled in impatience.

 

With a final lingering pat, the Trickster nodded. "After you."

 

That brief delay, however, was not without its cost. When the two gods entered the royal bedchamber, it was to find their mother lying on the floor, bleeding from a gaping sword wound in her belly. Jane Foster was holding her, weeping.

 

Jane lifted her bloody hand to Thor helplessly. "Thor, I…"

 

 ** _"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER, YOU USELESS CREATURE!"_** Loki roared, storming over to the human. Shoving her back, he took his mother in his arms.

 

"Mother, please try to stay calm," he told a panting Frigga, summoning forth his magic into his palms. "I'll heal you. I'm so sorry. It's my fault that we were delayed. If I hadn't given in to a selfish whim…"

 

Frigga, however, seized his hand. At that contact of their hands, she let out a pained gasp, staring into her son's green eyes in growing despair. "Loki, no…you didn't…you won't…," she said haltingly, but the Trickster stopped her broken stream of words by pulling her into a hug.

 

"It's alright, Mother," Loki whispered reassuringly in her ear. "I know what I'm doing."

 

"No, son! It doesn't have to be like this! You can't!" Frigga would have argued further, but Thor knelt at her other side, taking her hand. Loki shook his head slightly, not wanting her to say more.

 

"Mother, please let Loki heal you," Thor begged, his voice rough as he struggled to contain his emotions.

 

A tear fell from her eye as she gazed at her two sons. "I failed you both." Frigga cupped Loki's cheek. "You most of all. Loki, whatever it is you're planning to do, don't…"

 

"I'll do what I must," the Trickster declared firmly. "I swear Malekith shall pay for what he did to you."

 

"Then I shall be…watching…over you…my son. Take comfort…in the fact…that no matter what happens…you will not be alone." Taking one last shuddering breath, Frigga sagged into Loki's arms and expired.

 

"Mother?" Thor sobbed as Loki tenderly pressed her eyelids closed. The Thunder God embraced Frigga tightly. "Mother, no!"

 

Loki stood up then, walking past Jane who inched nervously away from him. He bent down and picked up his mother's short sword lying on the floor. As he lifted Frigga's blade, he conjured up his black and green raiment, but patterning it more after his mother's battle garments. The God of Chaos sheathed the sword in a scabbard that materialized at his hip.

 

His emerald eyes reflecting his grief, anger, and fortitude, Loki asked his grieving brother, "How soon can we leave?"

 

~~~~~

 

While travel to the Dark World was made easy with the combined energies of the newly rebuilt Bifrost and the Tesseract, the journey through the world itself to reach the source of the Dark Power that had possessed Jane Foster was a different matter altogether. Although Loki was already aware of the hostile terrain they were to traverse, what made the trek particularly arduous was their traveling companions.

 

Surprisingly, Loki tolerated the woman's presence rather well. At least she knew that it was in her best interest to keep quiet, even though it annoyed him the way she clung to Thor and how his brother held her just as close, his cloak draped protectively over her form.

 

No, the ones who proved to be major irritations were the Warriors Three and Sif. And there was one other whose presence the Trickster could feel but has not yet chosen to make his appearance.

 

It was Hogun who, for once, disregarded his stoic mien to demand to Thor that the younger god's wrists be shackled. The chains were more of a psychological ploy though, a reminder that he was still a prisoner.

 

Loki was only too happy to play along, going so far as to further recommend snidely, "Maybe you should put shackles on my ankles too. That way, I won't be able to escape. Oh, but if my movements are severely limited, I won't be able to get you to your destination either."

 

Fandral and Volstagg were more vocal with their threats, always reminding that they would not hesitate to kill him if he turned on them. Loki would simply roll his eyes and ignore them. Besides, if they went too far with their sniping, an irritated Thor would shut them up with a sharp glance or a growl.

 

Sif also managed to get some oral hits in. Loki, however, could not help feeling sorry for the warrior maiden. There was no mistaking the jealousy in her eyes whenever she glanced at Jane, the same sharp looks she used to throw at **_him_** whenever Thor preferred his company over that of his friends. Now that the God of Thunder's affections revolved around the mortal, Loki was inwardly pleased that his misery had found company.

 

As they continued on their journey—encountering ambushing Dark Elves and fierce monsters along the way—the threats and the sharp looks eventually ceased. Perhaps it was because he demonstrated to everyone that he posed no threat, having protected Thor and Jane, and even the other warriors, when they were in trouble. Surprisingly, Hogun himself removed the chains, thus giving him greater freedom, and the obvious opportunity to escape. But Loki never seized that chance. Still, the Trickster chose to keep his distance from the rest. To fuel their animosity toward him would not do well for his purpose.

 

When they were finally near their goal—a foreboding, mist-covered mountain, the summit of which they would reach on the evening of the following day—they decided to make camp for the night. Needing his privacy, Loki carried his food rations to the riverbank and sat down on a flat rock near the water's edge. He never expected company to be seeking him out.

 

The first was Sif, who quietly joined him as he dined.

 

"What are you up to, Loki?" the warrior inquired without blinking, blunt and direct as always.

 

Chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread, he answered, "Thor needed my help. Since we made a pact, I am honor bound to keep my word."

 

"I know you, Trickster. You never give your aid out of the goodness of your heart. What do you get in exchange? Pardon? Freedom?"

 

"Let's just say I got what I deserved. I will say no more on the matter."

 

Her jaw clenched, and Sif faced Loki directly. "Do you have any idea how much you have hurt him because of your act of treason? Your betrayal?"

 

"You don't have to tell me, Sif," Loki said, not hiding his sadness. "I see it every day, each time I look at his face. But I hope to change all that once our journey ends. How I intend to do that is something I would rather keep to myself."

 

Sif would have prodded him further, but she knew better than to insist on answers that he was determined not to give. "I'll be watching you, Loki," was the parting shot she gave him before she stormed off.

 

As soon as she was out of hearing range, Loki sensed a presence. His eyebrows lifted when Malekith himself—concealed by a cloaking spell—took the warrior maiden's place at his side.

 

"I was wondering when you'd show yourself to me," Loki commented dryly.

 

"You are on the wrong side, Loki Laufeyson," Malekith addressed him in a rather irritated, straightforward manner.

 

"And which side is that?" the Trickster asked pleasantly.

 

"I know you harbor no great love for that mortal woman. Join me and not only shall you be rid of Foster forever, you can have your vengeance upon Thor, the Allfather's favored son." A conniving smile curled up the corners of the Dark Elf's lips. "I might even be generous enough to share the Dark Power with you."

 

"Your offer is much appreciated and, I must confess, I am tempted. But I fear I must respectfully decline. I am on no one's side but my own."

 

"Then you are our enemy, Laufeyson. I shall make certain that you regret going against me," Malekith declared, furious at being rebuffed.

 

"You became my mortal enemy when you killed the Aesir Queen whom I called 'Mother'," Loki retorted just as heatedly. "Now leave me be!"

 

Snarling in frustration and rage, the Dark Elf vanished.

 

Before the Trickster could at last enjoy some peace and quiet, a timid voice queried, "Who were you talking to?"

 

Loki whirled abruptly to behold Jane Foster. At his sudden turn, the petite scientist was about to take a half-step backward, only to pause in mid-step, realizing that retreating from the god was not a good idea.

 

"You should be with my brother," Loki snapped back at her, facing the river again. If he thought those words were dismissal enough, he was wrong. Jane settled down beside him, keeping a comfortable distance between them.

 

"I wanted to thank you personally for helping me," Jane began nervously.

 

"I'm not here because of a sincere desire to help you. I want to make that perfectly clear."

 

"I know," she said, shrugging. "Your brother said as much. While he has not given me the details as to the…troubles…between the two of you, I am not blind." Jane let out a sigh. "You know, back on Earth, I've been wishing so hard that I could be reunited with Thor. I wanted to see the Rainbow Bridge and his home world. I also wanted to meet his parents and especially his younger brother whom he always spoke of with fondness and great pride. But now that I'm actually here, after all that I've seen and experienced, I realized that I'm out of my league. Never had that fact been driven home so hard than when I watched your mother being gutted with a sword while protecting me."

 

The scientist lifted her hands, staring at them hard as if she could still see Frigga's blood on them. "You called me a 'useless creature', and you were right. Never had I cursed myself so much for being human as I did at that moment. Queen Frigga was so kind to me and I could do nothing to help her."

 

"I did not mean to call you 'useless'. You are not to blame for anything, including my mother's death. It was unfair of me to lash out at you like that."

 

"Perhaps you have good reason for doing so. After all, I stole your brother's heart away from you, and your mother lay dying in my arms."

 

Loki faced her then, his expression mirroring his surprise and curiosity.

 

Jane continued, "I won't lie to you. I love Thor very much, but I know in my heart that I'm not the right one for him."

 

"And who is the 'right one'?"

 

"I don't know, but I'm not saying it's you though." That witty repartee made both god and human laugh lightly, easing the tension between them.

 

Shaking his head, Loki remarked, "It seems I was wrong about you, Jane Foster."

 

"Ditto," was Jane's simple answer. Acting on impulse, she laid her hand over the Trickster's fingers. "While you may have committed heinous crimes and made a number of mistakes, it's not my place to judge you. But from your current actions alone, how determined you are to see this journey through to the end, I can say that you are a man of conviction." She gave his hand a squeeze. "I trust you, Loki. I know that you will do the right thing, not only for me and your brother, but for yourself as well."

 

Jane was about to leave him when Loki put in, "Perhaps you can do me one small favor, Lady Jane. I need to know. Who was it that murdered my mother?"

 

"It was Malekith's general, a Dark Elf named Kurse," the mortal answered, her hatred showing in her eyes.

 

"Thank you for that information," he said solemnly.

 

With that, the human stood up, granting him an approving smile, before rejoining the others. For a while, Loki mulled on Jane's words, still awed by the astuteness that the mortal displayed. He did not know how long he sat at the riverbank, lost in thought.

 

What drew him out of his reverie was a thin black cord that fell on his arm. No words can describe how he felt when he beheld Thor standing above him.

 

"I'm having…difficulty…tying my hair," the Thunder God stammered in visible discomfort. "But Jane said she's no good at braiding and…"

 

Loki decided to spare his brother from any further embarrassment. Getting to his feet, he said in mild exasperation, "Come on," leading Thor toward a boulder. He urged his brother to sit down at its base while he perched himself on top of it. With deft fingers, he proceeded to separate Thor's mane into three locks, braiding them together neatly at his temple.

 

"Thank you, Loki," Thor said softly, gazing at the alien moons above their heads.

 

The God of Thunder did not see the happy smile on his sibling's face. "You're welcome, Brother."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

When they at last reached the summit of the great mountain, it was to find a breathtaking waterfall of raw dark energy pouring into a tumultuous, gaping chasm below. Malekith and his elves were already there, waiting for them. Loki gazed grimly at the tall powerfully built Dark Elf at Malekith's side, grinning at him malevolently. There was no mistaking who this elf was—Kurse, his mother's murderer.

 

A brief exchange of taunting words, and their final battle started. Sif and the Warriors Three took the lead, meeting Malekith's lesser troops with swords and shields. Loki did not act at once, choosing to observe the movements of the Dark Elves' leaders. Sure enough, as he guessed, Kurse charged at Thor to distract him so that Malekith could seize Jane Foster. With a quick spell, the Trickster teleported right in front of his brother, blocking Kurse's way.

 

"Your fight is with me," Loki declared in challenge, unsheathing his mother's sword.

 

"I thought the Queen of Asgard was a fierce warrior like her husband, the great Odin Allfather. But I suppose all those years of playing mother to two wayward sons softened her," Kurse said in ridicule. "She was a huge disappointment. She weakened her guard by focusing solely on defending the mortal. The end I gave her was too swift for my liking."

 

"Don't worry," Loki replied, his jaw tightening. "I'll make sure that you suffer plenty."

 

Unlike his brother, the God of Mischief never considered himself a warrior, even if he was given the same martial arts training as his sibling. But with his desire for revenge fueling his rage, he allowed his formidable fighting skills to show.

 

Despite his foe's height and power advantage, Loki met Kurse's attacks with equal measure, using his magic to augment his physical strength and speed. With every thrust of a sword and hard blow of a gauntleted fist, Loki would deflect it with his blade or a swiftly raised barrier. It did not take long for Kurse to notice that he was slowly being driven back by the Trickster's relentless attacks.

 

Not wanting to be defeated by such a puny god, Kurse tackled Loki, his brawny arms wrapping around the slender waist, and slammed him against a rock. Loki cried out at that painful impact. Kurse then lifted him up and proceeded to crush him in a bear hug. At first, the Trickster struggled to break free and, for a brief moment, the Dark Elf thought that he would triumph. But then, Loki suddenly vanished, leaving Kurse holding air. Whirling, the elf found himself surrounded by laughing clones. With a furious roar, he charged at one clone, only to pass right through it. Kurse yelped in pain and surprise as another clone slashed his arm. He made to grab the one who had scored a hit, but a third clone crept up behind him and took a swipe at his leg.

 

 ** _"I'LL DESTROY YOU ALL!"_** Kurse bellowed, releasing a spell which caused the clones to dissipate into bright, flashing green lights which blinded him for a few seconds. The Dark Elf never noticed that the god was standing right in front of him all along. His eyes widened in shock, a grunt escaping his lips, as Loki drove Frigga's sword deep into his guts, so that the blade exited at his back.

 

"That's for my mother!" Loki hissed into the shocked elf's face. He kicked Kurse's bleeding frame off the sword, sending his dying body toppling over the edge of the cliff. But before he could relish his victory over his mother's killer, Loki was jolted back to the present by a scream.

 

Turning on his heels, Loki was stunned to find Sif and the Warriors Three lying senseless on the ground. Thor himself was bleeding profusely from the wounds and injuries he had sustained from fighting Malekith. Still, the Thunder God struggled to get through the blustering winds that the Dark Elf threw his way, hoping to reach Jane, who was trapped at the waterfall's edge, held in place by a containment spell.

 

"Say goodbye to your lover, Thor," Malekith commanded the despairing god. "The Dark Power within her shall now be mine!"

 

With a twist of his hand, the Dark Elf conjured up a spell which began siphoning the dark energies from the mortal's chest. Seized by agonizing pain, Jane screamed helplessly.

 

This was the moment that Loki was waiting for. With long, determined strides, he marched toward Jane and placed himself right in the middle of the energy stream, cutting its flow into the Dark Elf. As the dark energies poured into him, it seared every tissue, every nerve, and every cell. Terrible was the burning pain that his body tried to compensate by changing into its cold-blooded Jotun form.

 

 ** _"LOKI!"_** Malekith was enraged, readying a counterspell that would destroy the God of Chaos. **_"THAT POWER BELONGS TO ME!"_**

 

 ** _"THEN TAKE IT ALL!"_** Loki roared as he raised his arms sideways.

 

The Trickster blasted Malekith with a raging torrent of Dark Power. As it engulfed the Dark Elf, Loki watched grimly as black blood started pouring out of Malekith's eyes, nose, and mouth. No longer able to contain the energies flooding into his being, Malekith tilted his head backward, a high-pitched scream tearing from his throat, and he exploded into nothingness.

 

With his death, the storm winds died down instantly, and a very weak Thor fell to his knees. Freed from the spell as well, Jane rushed to the God of Thunder's side. Loki would have sighed in relief to see his brother and his lover safe.

 

Instead, the Trickster reminded them, "It's not over yet." With the last ounce of his strength, he raised his right hand, clenching it into a tight fist, and pulled out the remaining dregs of Dark Power still inside the mortal.

 

When he finally drained her completely, Loki's hands flew to his chest, feeling his heart pound once and then again with the devastating force of Mjolnir. Possibly sensing his intent to destroy it, the Dark Power was fighting him, wanting to return to its weak and compliant human vessel. Worse, it wanted to consume his brother as well.

 

There was a look of concern on Thor's face as he made to stand up with Jane's assistance. "Loki, are you—"

 

 ** _"NO! STAY BACK!"_** Loki raised his right hand in a halting gesture while his left remained clenched over his chest. He took two stumbling steps backward, causing Jane to gasp as he reached the waterfall's edge.

 

"Loki, what are you doing? Step away from there!" the God of Thunder demanded, his fear growing by the second.

 

Instead of heeding his older sibling, Loki smiled and said, "Mother told me that my magic could not be confined by wards or by other means because its power is not drawn from external sources. I didn't understand what she meant then. But when I discovered that I was still capable of creating those ice sculptures of you, even after the crack in my cell has been sealed, I finally knew. My magic…it has always been in here." He pressed his palm to his chest. "And now that my heart is irreparably damaged, I can just…let it all out."

 

Before Thor could stop him, Loki released all of his magic from inside his heart. With his seiðr, he tried to purify the Dark Power, turning those black splotchy energies into a healthy green. When the Dark Power attempted to escape, the Trickster used the ice magic of his Jotun heritage to contain it by freezing every cell in his body into hard, blue ice.

 

 ** _"LOKI! STOP! DON'T DO THIS!"_** Thor cried as he watched the ice spread out from his brother's chest to envelop his torso before creeping to his limbs. The Trickster was starting to look like an ice statue already, with only his pumping heart a bright red jewel amidst crystalline blue.

 

"It's over now, Brother," were Loki's final words to him as the ice completely encased his head, sealing his lips forever with that sad, little smile. Even his heart stopped beating.

 

Loki never heard Thor's anguished scream of **_"NOOOOO!"_** as his body teetered backward and fell over the waterfall's edge, disappearing into the foaming chasm below. Unlike the first time on the Bifrost, the God of Thunder rushed to his feet and leaped after his younger sibling. But even with Mjolnir's power, he could not pierce the maelstrom of energies to retrieve his brother's body.

 

In the end, the only trace of Loki he found was a red, teardrop-shaped piece of ice which resisted melting even when he held it in the heat of his trembling palms.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Thor returned to Asgard to cheers not only from the citizens of the Golden Kingdom, but also those from the other eight realms which were nearly decimated by Malekith's ruthless onslaught. To his dismay, no one wanted to believe that it was not he, but Loki who saved all their lives. Having been unconscious during the God of Mischief's final moments, Sif and the Warriors Three dismissed the truth as an attempt on their friend's part to salvage his brother's ruined reputation._

_Only Jane stood steadfastly by the Thunder God's claims, even going so far as to challenge Odin—who should have seen everything that had happened—to substantiate their words. The Allfather, however, would not be moved. For her defiance, the mortal was sent back to Midgard, never to set foot on the Eternal Realm ever again._

_Before she left, though, Jane spoke to Thor in earnest, "Don't give up on Loki. Do everything you can to help him get back to you. You owe him, Thor. Help Loki find his way back to your heart."_

_It was during a visit to Loki's cell—after seeing the puddle of water that remained of his sibling's last creation—that Thor got the idea to build ice statues of his brother. This idea was further strengthened by a comment made by a visiting Jotun emissary that the waters of the Dark World falls drained into the major tributaries that flowed through the Nine Realms._

_Thor was willing to try anything and everything to get his brother back. Not leaving anything to chance, he sent out a command that blocks of ice made from the river water of each realm be brought to him. Although the ambassadors thought his request strange, they did as ordered out of sincere gratitude, sending huge blocks of ice daily through the Bifrost, which the Einherjar picked up in carts and delivered to their Crown Prince, who was waiting in the dungeons._

_While the ice was plentiful, it was Thor who sorely lacked the talent and the creativity to recreate the Trickster's form with hammer and chisel. Every attempt ended in failure, destruction, and guilt-ridden tears. When Jotunheim sent him that beautiful azure ice, he had thought his luck would finally change._

_Lost and utterly defeated, Thor knelt on the sodden dungeon floor, embracing that misshapen block of blue ice, sobbing over and over again, "I have failed you again, Brother. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."_

_In his grief, the God of Thunder, at first, did not sense another, unseen, presence inside the cell. Neither did he notice that his falling tears were melting the ice into the curves and forms he had failed to create with his tools. He only realized that he was not alone when warm palms pressed against the backs of his hands. As he turned his head to the side, Thor beheld his mother's beautiful face._

_"You are doing it all wrong, Thor," Frigga gently chided him. "You know that your hands were not made for creating."_

_"Then tell me, Mother. What should I do?" Thor asked in despair._

_"Use the trickle of magic from the crack of your broken heart."_

_"But…I'm no mage like Loki was."_

_"Just trust me, my son, and trust in the desire of your heart. Let it out, just as Loki had done in the Dark World." With an encouraging nod, Frigga gestured to the ice, and at the distinct familiar arch of a cheekbone that was not there before. "Look, Thor. Let your heart guide the magic. Don't be afraid. I'll help you."_

_Nodding, Thor tossed his tools aside, letting the meager magic he possessed suffuse his being. His frostbitten palms—under the guidance of his mother—and his hot tears melted the ice and molded it into the form he desired. The minutes turned into hours, but Thor would not stop at his labors._

_Then, finally, at cock crow, he was done. Thor smiled broadly at the sight of the lifelike ice sculpture of Loki Laufeyson before him. He had carved Loki from an image in his memory during their journey._

_Of Loki sitting at a riverbank, before Thor had asked his brother to braid his hair for him. His handsome face was a picture of thoughtful repose with a hint of a wistful smile on his lips. Because of the breeze then, Loki's hair had been freed from its usual slicked back appearance, becoming an alluring frizzy tumble of ebony strands down his shoulders._

_Thor took the piece of red ice which he had hidden in a little pouch hung on a cord around his neck. He pushed the ice into the tiny hole he had chipped out of the sculpture's chest. It was Frigga who sealed that small hollow with a spell through her fingertip. Before she faded away, she kissed her firstborn on the forehead reassuringly._

_Now that he was finally alone, Thor reached out and cupped the back of the statue's neck. "Come back to me, Loki. My brother, my heart!" he whispered as he drew the sculpture into his arms and kissed its lips._

_At first, nothing happened. But Thor would not let fear and doubt deter him. He kissed that ice cold mouth harder, his hard, hot body pressing against the sculpture's chest._

_Then, he felt the sharp thud of a heart against his breast, following by another…and another…until the beats were restored to their healthy rhythm. The melting ice drenched his clothes, but the God of Thunder could not care less about the state of his garments, especially when his bare arms touched what he knew to be frigid blue skin. Still, he dared not open his eyes lest his concentration be broken. As his heart's magic continued to do its work, cold flesh gave way to the silky warmth of an Aesir's skin. Sighing, Thor buried his face in the moist, frizzy mane, which grew longer and longer until it fell upon slender shoulders in waves and curls._

_What made him gasp and laugh in the end were the graceful arms that clung to his neck and the warm lips pressing on his mouth with heartbreaking longing._

_It was only then that Thor pulled away, albeit reluctantly, his tears of joy streaming down his cheeks as he beheld glittering emerald eyes._

_"Welcome home, Brother."_


End file.
